


Breathe With Me

by Querel (Rednaelo)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Crossing Timelines, Hurt/Comfort, Love Triangle, M/M, Multiple Pairings, Rape/Non-con References, Stripper!Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-14
Updated: 2012-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-01 22:35:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rednaelo/pseuds/Querel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How exactly do you react when your best friend you haven't seen in a decade is a stripper at a gay club?  Um, if you have to ask twice, then you have no brains.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eye](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Eye).



Your name is John.  But you can’t be John right now.  You’re too busy being absolutely terrified.  You’ve gone so far off the deep end in The Scale of Uncomfortable, your ears are quite literally popping under the pressure of how insane this is.  You slipped right by ‘Awkward’ and bypassed ‘Distressing’ and now you are sitting at the very bottom of the pool with the burning chlorine taste of ‘Yep, That’s Stomach Juice In The Back Of Your Throat-Nauseating.’

“U-uh, guys?” you say, taking a generous step backwards, “I really don’t want to go in there.” You continue your retreat, but unfortunately you collide abruptly with your friend Gamzee.  You look up at him and he stands there with that chilled out grin on his face, patting your shoulders gently.

“You’re thinkin’ too much, brother,” he says and then he kinda walks past you without realizing that you’re still in front of him; it happens more often than people really realize.  So you trip into your other friend Jake.  He’s there for you with a hearty laugh and a firm grip to keep you upright.  Your knees have more or less stopped existing.

“Come on, then, Egbert!” he cheers you (way too loud, what if someone hears?!), “it’s all a jolly good laugh!  Nothing to fear, old boy!”

“What is it you’re afraid of, John?” you hear Rose say from your other side.  You turn to look where she and Kanaya are standing, each with an arm slung around each others’ waists.

“What the heck are you guys even doing here?” you ask, only it comes out more like a wail because you’re still flipping the fuck out.  “You’re not…you’re not….”

“Are you about to say ‘homosexual’?” Rose asks.  There’s a wicked glittering in her eyes. 

“No, no,” you shake your head wildly.  “You’re not….”

“I think what my dear friend John here is trying to say is that you lovely ladies aren’t of the particular persuasion to be ogling the stropping physiques of the young men of this establishment!” 

Thank you, Jake.  Ever so helpful.

You crane your head up again to look at the glaring neon sign that’s a few feet above you.  The twisted tubes of eye-burning red and orange spell out the words, ‘Marionette.’  They burn hot and vibrant in the brownish haze of streetlamp-lit midnight sky.

Your name is John and you’re currently standing in front of a gay strip club. 

You and your friends have been hanging out all day, celebrating the reunion of your gang.  You were all close buddies back in high school, but after graduation, your group was split up by your respective pursuits.  You were lucky enough to land a roomshare with Jake and Rose.  But you missed the other half of your dream team.  Gamzee, Kanaya and Karkat all packed up and shipped themselves off to the lower part of Michigan, effectively becoming known as ‘the trolls.’  But today was the first day of summer vacation and you all were whole once again.

It was all great at first.  Just the six of you hanging out at your apartment, sharing memories and crazy stories that happened to you over the year.  You were having a great time.  Until Jake started to get bored. 

You would’ve thought that by now, you knew not to let that happen.  Because then he gets ideas.  You were just sitting there, laughing with your best buddies about how Karkat had an absolute spazz attack when some gay guy felt him up at a club—such a wild reaction that even the DJ got distracted—and then Jake got into one of those one-upper modes and made Karkat his unfortunate target.

“Honestly, Vantas,” he had said, with that slick-douchebag eyebrow waggle of his, “If you can’t even decline the advances of another with at least _some_ dignity than how can you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I don’t have to take that shit from you!” Karkat fumed.  His face was bright red and you were still laughing your ass off.

“Well, certainly not,” Jake continued, “I just can’t believe you’re acting like a child even now.  What, were you afraid of getting cooties?”  He wiggled his fingers mockingly and another wave of giggles washed over you and your friends.

“Shut up, English!”

“Alright, then prove me wrong!” Jake challenged, getting to his feet in excitement.  You could feel it rolling off him and it just bolstered your grin.  Things were getting good. “You have to sit through a lapdance from a male stripper for a full ten minutes or you’ll forever be known as the Cootie Queen!”

“Fine!” Karkat yelled.  Spit was flying everywhere.  “And I’m bringing you all with me so I never have to put up with this insensible bullshit ever again!”

That’s when it stopped being funny to you.

Jake insisted that everyone immediately pile into the car to make sure Karkat wouldn’t back out and so now you’re here, in front of Marionette, about to go inside.

And this is the part where you remember that—good lord above—you do _not_ want to go inside.

Gamzee’s already being pushed past the doors because apparently, as eager as Karkat was to begin with, he doesn’t want to be the first one in.  Kanaya and Rose have finished explaining to you who are not listening that they’re fine being here to support Karkat in his idiocy and have proceeded to follow him.  Now you’re being tugged along by Jake (and he’s _still_ laughing!) and it’s at this point that you decide to shut down your brain and convince yourself that everything you experience from here on out is an absolute fabrication.

It’s easier to think that to yourself.

When you get past the ridiculously-tinted doors and into the club itself, your brain is kicked into overdrive with the crazy lighting and insanely loud music.  It’s a wonder you didn’t hear it when you were outside on the street.

How can a place be dark but vibrant at the same time?  It’s the first thing you wonder to yourself as you get a look around.  There’s a big stage out in front, all lit up with tumbling lightbeams in every color, but the seats are all darkened.  Wherever you can get a good glimpse of color, it’s always red.  Red seats, red carpet, even the bar looks like it’s tabled in pinkish granite.  Everything’s sparkling and the music is pounding through you; a heartbeat in your skull with the added dip and lull of electroclashing tones.

You catch one glimpse of skimpy, black leather short shorts around pert and tanned ass cheeks and you’re done.

You whip around and march right towards the door.  Sadly, you only get three steps before you’re caught again and then manhandled by a morbidly amused Jake English into a more secluded corner with the rest of your friends. 

You end up squeezed between Jake and Kanaya, your legs pressed firmly together and your hands quite to yourself as you stare straight down into your lap.  You don’t care that the song that’s rocking the walls of this place is really cool or that your friends are talking around you.

Your name is John and you honestly have no idea why, but this is the last place on the planet where you want to be.

John: Be the boy in the short shorts.

You are now the boy in the short shorts.  Your name is Dave Strider and you just did a double-take.  Of course you did it where no one was looking because a move like that is like bottom-rung of the cool ladder.  And you have to be cool.  It’s who you are; it’s how you sell.  Putting on the leather and shades only does so much.  The money is in the magic and the magic don’t work if you herp like a derp.

No, you’re looking at the one a little off to the side, looking like he’s trying to turn himself into a black hole and just vanish inside himself.

That guy is John Egbert, the boy you lived across the street from when you were just a runt.  John Egbert, your first friend ever.  John Egbert who got carted off to Washington before you finished elementary school together.  John Egbert who you haven’t seen in ten years.

John Egbert who forgot you.

But you didn’t forget him.  And now you’re going to make sure he’ll remember you forever.

You make your move to sidle up to their table but with your shit luck, Ampora gets there first and starts laying it on thick.  You just barely manage to hold back your angry snarl and resolve just to roll your eyes in annoyance.  At least no one can see that.

That guy is way too desperate for attention.  Yep, there he goes, proppin’ his foot up on the table to jut that purple-sequined crotch of his into their faces.  The shorty kid opposite John looks like he’s about to blow chunks.  John himself is doing his very best imitation of a human brick.  Pretty impressive.  If not for the fact that his face is a stunning shade of red.  Could just be the LEDs cast, but you’re pretty sure his own colors are shining through.

Then he manages to tear his eyes away from his own shoes—though he still doesn’t give Ampora so much as a glance—and somehow, his bright eyes land right on you.

Your pulse rattles.  It’s a short feeling because he instantly whips his gaze in an obscure direction.  But before you have time to let your heart crash to the ground, he’s right back on you.  This time, his mouth is agape, blue eyes wide and you can almost hear his gasp from across the room.

He sees you.  He _knows_ you. 

You smirk.  It’s the small bit of a smile you allow yourself because it doesn’t shatter your persona at all.  Only makes you more attractive.

You bob your head just a bit to show him that, yeah, you see him and yeah, nice to see you again too.  By your own astute observations, you’ve now concluded that John Egbert has stopped breathing.  And you chuckle silently while his lady friend next to him shakes his shoulder a bit to make sure he’s alright.

Well, you know he’s watching you now.  Watching you hard.  And you can’t approach their table since Ampora got there first—now proceeding to give shorty kid a lapdance—but you can take the center stage and show off because those baby blues are burning into your body like a brand.

The boy came here for a show.  Well, it’s time to show him what he’s been missing.

Your shit luck suddenly become gods’ luck because your favorite song come on just as you’re swinging up onstage.

Nothing gets you going like Prodigy.  “Breathe” is the absolute best combination of sick beats and sexy technoswerving.  Your hips practically move on their own.  This song is for John.

Striptease and poledancing aren’t your greatest love but fuck if you aren’t good at what you do.  You check to make sure he’s still watching.  Of course he is.  John is somewhere between horrified and hypnotized.  Perfect.  Your goal for the night is to get him all the way to entranced and then keep him there. 

You start off like you always do and work your routine well.  You don’t think, you just do.  You can’t afford to let yourself get distracted.  He needs to see you at your best.

Dave: Be the stargazer.

You are now the stargazer.  Meaning you’re John Egbert and you’re seeing stars because you’re pretty sure your brains have just evacuated your skull.

That….  That boy up there on stage…the one in the black leather short shorts, the knee-high black leather boots and the black leather top (oh my god, what even is that thing?! It looks like a bunch of belts strapped together!)….  That boy is Dave Strider.

Your long lost, very much missed childhood friend, Dave Strider.

And he’s pole dancing.

You’re about three seconds away from screaming—Karkat’s already screaming, but you’re not paying any attention to him—but somehow you keep it in.  That energy instead bubbles under your skin like fire in your blood.  You cannot look away.  You _will_ not look away.  You don’t _want_ to look away.

Because, Jesus Christ, he is…. 

He’s rolling his hips and smoothing leather-gloved hands down his chest, across his abs and down between his legs, all the way to his feet.  The curve of his spine as he’s bent over, the gleam of red light against that leather-clad ass.  You are swooning in your seat and you don’t even realize it.

He dances.  Swings around that pole and people crowd at his feet.  But he doesn’t pay attention to any of them.  People try to stuff dollar bills in his shorts but he’s always a step out of reach. 

In some nook of your mind where there is still a glimpse of sanity and cognition, you think you understand why this place is called Marionette.  Dave moves like he’s on the strings of the song, completely beneath its will.  They gyrate and grind together like fiery red gears just tick-tick-ticking away like the rapid beat of your heart in your ears.

You rake your eyes all over him.  Down the gently damp nape of his freckled neck and over leather-strapped pecks to the well-defined ‘v’ of his hipbones and oh god those fucking shorts….

He dips down and spreads his knees open, pushing his hips forward and highlighting that sweet bulge trapped in thin, black leather.  And then his hands start tearing at the belts around his chest, ripping them away so his nipples are suddenly the stars in your eyes.

They’re pink and perfect and you are very hard and these jeans suck and oh god, he’s still going….

That shirt becomes nothing but a coil of leather on the ground. 

You’re pressing your hands down into your erection and your teeth down into your bottom lip because you’re not sure how much more of this you can handle.

The music slows for a moment and you start to breathe a sigh of relief. But you’re sooooo mistaken.  Because that’s when Dave takes the opportunity to get on his hands and knees and crawl to the edge of the stage.  Your eyes widen and he curls his spine back, sitting on his heels and reaching his arms up above his head.  The many fingers of the nearby crowd reach out, stroking his skin in reverence; a surge of fire rushes through you.  Dave’s hands slowly descend again; you watch as those fingers twirl and tease you in their steady withdrawal. 

Then he pulls his shades down just a bit. And in the split second that you can see the heart-bursting red of his eyes, he winks and licks his lips.  Right at you. 

And your heart does explode.  It ruptures a fierce blush starting from the center of your chest that comes spilling out of the top of your head only to smother you in furious heat.  You squirm. The friction of your jeans, your  fisted fingers, against your erection is starting to pull your soul out of your body.

Then his arms swing back and the momentum lifts him onto his booted toes: the marionette strings of his song tugging him back gracefully.  He melts right back into his dance, every now and then nuzzling that bulge against the slick silver of the pole. 

Your head feels hot.  Heavy as lead and empty as a balloon.

Your life skips for a second—it must’ve; what the hell is happening to you?—because there’s a sudden eruption of cheering from Dave’s stage.  His shorts are gone.

It’s weird because you literally cannot remember what happened but at the same time, you have these images in your head.  You saw everything.  He wasn’t shy about it.  You don’t know in what context that could ever be considered underwear but your DICK CERTAINLY DIDN’T SEEM TO MIND.

And that’s where you are now, internally screaming at yourself after hightailing it to the bathroom and repeatedly knocking your head against the stall door.

What the flying acrobatic fuck.

Everything is just so backwards, you don’t even know how to think about it. 

Which is why when you finally leave the bathroom and rejoin your friends, who are all still laughing at Karkat’s expense (you don’t even know what happened to him but you really can’t find it in yourself to care), you’re very startled when this unknown twink in a Japanese school girl uniform hops up next to you and says,

“Spitfire says he’s looking for you.  You know, Dave?”

And then you _really_ start to panic.

 

Coming up===> Dave: Blow him away.  Like you mean it.


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is Dave and your heart is pounding.  You’ve been working the sex trade for a couple years now; a little show like that isn’t such a hard workout that you need to catch your breath after it.  But there is something wild and ferocious kicking around in your chest.  You can feel it in your neck without touching your fingers to any pulse points.  Every throb pushes waves of adrenaline through you until it’s making you glow like the glitter gel on your thighs.




The first time you felt this way was shortly after you joined Marionette.  The place was an old cabaret that your Bro bought, fixed up and turned into a wonderland of skinny, hairless boys in spandex and leather.  You weren’t allowed within a fifty-foot radius of the place when you were still underage and for a while that was fine with you.  You weren’t very interested in watching a bunch of guys take their clothes off.

Your Bro took good care of you with the killing he made off this place.  And yeah, for a long time, you put up with a bunch of shit from people at school who knew how you got bread in your stomach.  You couldn’t remember how many times you were called a fag.  Or how much of your shit got vandalized over the years.

The funny thing was, you never gave anyone the impression you were so inclined because—go figure—you weren’t.  Yeah, you had your friends Tavros and Sollux but you were pretty chill with them.  And you even went out with Jade for over a year.  But, no.  You were ever a faggot by association.

So when your senior year rolled around, you decided to see if maybe you could put everyone out of their douchebaggery by conquering your infamous reputation.

Your legend was brought to climax the day after your eighteenth birthday.  You, with Sollux’s intelligently covert assistance, managed to hack into every computer into the school.Right when class was just about to start, they all turned on simultaneously to display a looping six second clip of you getting head from that self-righteous prick Zahhak in the football locker room.

Best part of it was that it was entirely real footage.  Though your greatest antagonizer through the years, turned out that with a few demoralizing whispers and a lingering touch or two, you could get that musclehead to do anything for you.  He’d worship the sweat on your sack if you stepped on his face long enough.

You offered yourself up to the school board, as you were planning to do all along and were suspended for quite a while.  But when you came back, people didn’t jeer at you anymore.

Apparently, making the toughest guy in school suck the jizz off your cock was enough to let people know that you weren’t fucking around.  Hell, if you’d known that, you would’ve done it sooner.

You never dated anyone, but fooled around with plenty of guys.  There were a lot of propositions after your triumphant return and your reputation transformed from being that faggot-freak to some sort of sex god.  Your skills were whispered in reverence all throughout the rest of the year.  And in your graduation ceremony, you shook hands with the principal, accepted your diploma and then hiked up that graduation gown to show everybody and their mothers that fine ass of yours after ripping off your Velcro pants off.

You were escorted off the stage and out of the auditorium but it’s not like you were eager to watch the T through Z’s walk across the stage anyway.

Your Bro took you home and gave you a beer after patting you on the head and saying that you were the coolest kid in the world.

The next day, you went to Marionette with Bro since you both decided that it’d be a good idea to run the business together.   Wasn’t really your jam, you came to find, though the boys who worked the floor certainly seemed to like you a whole lot.  About a month or so in, you were having an establishment anniversary party with the staff and a few drinks and a lot of goading later, you were up on the stage, working that pole like you worked the minds of the entire student body to your will.

And, like before, everyone just ate you up.  Your ways were just like a drug for them.  Still are.

Your Bro let you work the floor on the one condition that you never sell your services to any single individual.  You didn’t think he’d let you got for it at all but it was easy to tell that your happiness meant more to him than his own authority.

And, fuck, you are happy with your work.

You love it when people look at you.  When they can’t tear their eyes away.  They follow your every move as if your skin makes the sun shine.  Your bones are the very foundations of the planet.  They’ll talk to you just to hear your voice.  You’ve yet to encounter any customer whose eyes didn’t roll back in their head just a little from hearing you say shit like, “Thanks for coming.” Double entendres are good for voyeurs; makes ‘em eager to stuff nice things in your pants.

You yourself are quite indulgent in your own exhibitionism kink, even taking it out of the club sometimes.  But it’s worn down after the months have gone by.  Except for tonight.

With John’s eyes on you, you were up on the stage for your debut agian, half-hard by the time you got down.  All because you knew he was watching you the entire time.  He ran out right after the song ended, but you managed to wrangle one of the new boys to go give him the message.

Your name is Dave Strider and this reunion is already very eye-opening for you.  You hope to whatever supernatural force in the world that gets its jollies from watching you rub your junk on metal poles is still on your side because you haven’t been this nervous since you deep-throated for the first time.

You can’t believe you’re going to see John again after all these years…after all that sex you put on display just for him.

You’re desperately hoping that he’ll meet with you and not run away.  Oh god, please don’t run. Please just come right to your arms if only for a moment.

Dave: Be the boy with no pulse.

You’re now the boy with no pulse.  Your name is John and your heart has stopped.  You’re sure of it.  Your friends are looking at you, wondering how the hell you know…what did the guy call him, ‘Spitfire?’  They all have these similar expressions of confusion and astonishment.

You’re completely at a loss for words.  After all, your brain can’t work if your heart isn’t doing what it’s supposed to.  You flap your mouth open and closed a few times fruitlessly, only letting out a choked out squeak between the overflow of silence that’s sitting in the four feet between you and the rest of your pals.

“Uh…,” you finally manage, looking to see if the messenger is still there.  He is, smiling kindly at you.

“Come on,” he says.  “I’ll take you backstage.”  And then your arm is hooked in the crook of his elbow and he’s dragging you away, telling your friends to go on home because apparently the club is going to send you back with an escort.

You’re not sure if you should be yelling for help.  Panicked and not thinking at all, you just smile like a wide-eyed buffoon and wave to your friends which has effectively communicated to them that you don’t mind being abducted to cavort with male strippers.  Rose is the only one who looks amused by the situation.  You remind yourself to interrogate her later.

Well, okay, so now you’re on your way to go see Dave.  You have an unknown but definitely short amount of time to make yourself look like you’re the master of the universe.  You don’t think you can do it, but you’re going to try.

What?  Aroused by watching your oldest friend dance and take his clothes off?  Nah.  Pretty wicked digs they got here, though. What a life, huh?  Nah, everything’s cool.  You’re cool with everything.

You’re not fooling yourself which means you’re definitely not fooling anyone else.

God, when was the last time you even  _saw_  Dave?  You were what, nine?  You guys used to hang out at each other’s houses all the time.  You played video games together and sat next to each other at lunch.  You’d have cartoon marathons on Saturday mornings after sleepovers.  If it was at Dave’s place, his Bro would let you have a scoop of ice cream on top of your Eggos.  If it was at your place, your dad made extra bacon to go with your chocolate chip pancakes.

Dave let you borrow his bike after yours got stolen and you didn’t have one for three months.  You’d take turns riding it down that terrifyingly steep hill.  And when you wiped out that one time and the road ate a raw strip of flesh right off your thigh, Dave put you on his back and carried you all the way back up the hill, leaving his bike behind.  Luckily, it didn’t get stolen too.  You gave him your last pack of Rockin’ Blue Raspberry Gushers the next day at lunch.

When you moved away it was awful.  He was your best bro and you were going to be half a country away from him.  You cried.  Dave didn’t, but he definitely wasn’t happy.  You promised you’d call him whenever you could, which wouldn’t be very often because long-distance was expensive.

For a while, that worked.  But time went by and the phone calls became less and less frequent as you got older.  Life just happened, as it always did.  And you figured that your friendship would just have to be a fond memory for you to look back on.  You never thought you’d see him again, even after you moved back to your childhood home after you graduated.  You figured Dave had moved somewhere else.

And you  _definitely_  never thought you’d see him  _pole dancing_.

Reminiscing time is over because you’re being ushered through a curtain and navigated about back halls and men in various states of undress—oh god, you really don’t think you can handle this.

But it’s too late now because your chauffer is knocking on one of the doors and a low voice invites him in.  Only he doesn’t enter, he just smiles at you and walks away.

You gulp.  You stare at the door.  You stare at the handle.  Then you take a deep breath and open it.

The room is small and really cluttered.  There are outfits strewn over practically everything and boxes taking up corners.  Two of the walls are just lighted mirrors and there’s all sorts of toiletry and makeup stuff scattered on the counters lining them.  There’s one couch, comfortable looking, clean and empty save for one twenty-year-old Dave Strider who’s sitting there looking like a sex god.

Thankfully, he’s clothed (you breathe a little sigh) but it doesn’t really matter because he looks like Adonis wearing that long-sleeved white shirt and grungy jeans.  Barefoot.  And on his face are the aviator shades you gave to him a long, long time ago. 

He’s smiling.  Not that wicked ‘I’m-gonna-sex-you-up’ grin he had on earlier, but the smile you saw when you gave him your Gushers that day after he carried you home.

Suddenly, you don’t give a damn that you had a boner for him but five minutes ago.

“Dave,” you say, right as the door is shutting behind you.  He breaks into a full-on grin and stands up just in time to catch you when you launch yourself at him.  “Oh, god, Dave!  It’s so good to see you!”

“You have no idea, man,” he says.  His lips are right at your ear and his breath is warm as his arms hold you snugly against his chest.  “No fuckin’ idea.”

He’s really warm and you’re not crying but you will be if you don’t calm down a bit.  So you let go and so does he and you both just sit down on the couch and stare at each other, smiling like the couple of idiots that you are.

Yeah, he may be cool—he’s always been cool—but you know that under that cool is a nerd just like you. 

You fall right back into the groove of things like you’re riding your bike again.  It may have been a long time, but you haven’t forgotten how this works. 

John: Be the nerd in the cool kid’s body.

You’re suddenly a nerd in a cool kid’s body and you look a lot more chill on the surface than you are inside.  You are Dave and somehow you’ve got John’s hand in your own and he doesn’t even notice.  He’s just glittering at you with that toothy, beaming grin of his.

Now that you have a better look at him in the light, you can see that he doesn’t look a bit different than you remember.  But at the same time, he’s  _entirely_  different.  He wears those bucked teeth like they’re pink ribbons on loli-girl pigtails and he’s got that skinny-geek physique that you know is secretly harboring a wicked right punch if you’re a dick enough to deserve it.

His black hair is shaggy and soft-looking and you really like the gentle angle of his jaw.  He’s just wearing a green t-shirt and cargo shorts but he’s abso-fuckin-lutely adorable.  You’re finding it hard to resist the urge to tickle him.  Oh, god, he used to be so ticklish.  You’re praying that he still is.

“How have you been?” he asks you.  “You certainly seem—” Blush starts from the tip of his nose and spreads all the way to those ears that stick out just a bit, turning pink at the tops.  Oh, you just want to eat him.  “Y-you seem, uh, healthy.”

You laugh and squeeze his fingers a bit.  And  _now_  he notices that you’re holding onto him and it only makes that sweet pink turn a darker red.

“I’m just fuckin’ fantastic,” you tell him.  “Been working here for about two years and it has been so radical.  What about you?  You’re back in town, what’s up with that?”

“Oh, yeah!” he says, jumping at the opportunity.  “I’ve been here for about a year now!  Came back for college.  I’m back at my old house, you know?  What about you, where are you living?”

“I got a place of my own,” you say.  “It’s a little ways from here.  So, what, you’re living in that hugeass house by yourself?”

“No, no, I have roommates.  Friends from high school.  I came with them tonight, actually.”

“Speaking of which,” you take your own chance, “what has you here in the first place?  You didn’t looked too chuffed sittin’ there in the corner.  Why d’ja come at all?”

“Oh, w-well,” he says, staring down at his knees again.  “Uh, my friend Karkat was pushed here by a dare from my other friend Jake.  Said he had to sit through a lapdance or we’d call him the Cootie Queen for the rest of forever.”

You laugh.

“Dude, that’s rough,” you say. “Yeah, I saw the guy got landed with Ampora.  That sucks even worse cuz that fishdick wouldn’t know a good lapdance if you glued an ass to his face.”

John loosens up again and laughs.  Dear lord, this kid is killing you.

“Hope your life wasn’t wasted too much,” you say.  “I know this place ain’t everyone’s idea of a hot time, and I’m sure you didn’t need an eyeful of your bro’s junk, but—”

"Oh, no!  No, no, no!”  He squeezes your hand and kinda thumps it on the couch between you over and over.  “No, it was so good to see you after so long!”  He giggles.   “Yeah and that show of yours was something else, huh?  Pretty wild.”

“You think so?” You can feel your eyebrow lifting towards your hairline; natural reaction to someone talking about your dancing.

“Uh-huh, yeah.”  He’s rolling his eyes and just a-grinning.  “Sure know how to work your stuff, don’t cha?  Made me hotter than any porn I’ve seen.” 

You’re about to laugh, but you don’t because John’s face is doing its tomato impression again.  Which is when you realize that what he said as a joke ended up being the truth just sliding right out of his lips.  Oh hell.  Nope, nope, you’re gone.

You stare at him for a moment and he’s mildly slack-jawed and very interested in the carpet.  You run your tongue along your bottom lip and go for it, leaning in until your lips touch the curve of his ear.  He shudders; his palm is sweaty.

“Wanna see if I can get you off better than any porn you’ve seen, too?”

He might’ve been trying to laugh.  This sound came huffing out of his mouth like a breathy chuckle, but to your ears, it sounded a little like a desperate gasp: it’s your invitation.

And you accept it.

Your lips close around his earlobe and you touch your tongue to it, sucking gently.  John whimpers and leans into you, his hand clutching at your knee.  Your free hand goes to his face and you stroke along that sweet jawline, holding his cheek. 

You keep kissing him, down his neck to the nape and sink your teeth in just barely.  Just a scrape.  His chest is hitching and your name…it comes off his tongue like calls for salvation.

“Dave…Dave, oh god, Dave….”

You nudge him back until his head’s on the armrest and you’re pushing his shirt up.  Up over pale skin to show that wispy trail of hair going from his belly button all the way past his waistband.  You put your lips to it and just breathe for a moment, feeling his muscles clench under your mouth.  You take your hands back and curl them around his ribs, making him jerk a bit in surprise.

Yep, he’s still ticklish.

You smile and slide your lips down until you reach the button of his shorts. The curve of his erection is so obvious; you mouth it a bit and experiment with undoing the button with your teeth.  Luckily, he’s worn these shorts a lot or something because it slips right through the hole and you tug the zipper down right after. 

Your tongue runs along the protruding blue fabric, up the length to the wet spot near the elastic.  You kiss that dark stain and suckle it just a bit.  John gasps, his spine arching beautifully; you watch him tilt his head back and dig his nails into the couch.

With no further preamble, you tug down his boxers and go straight for the honey, lips wrapping around the head of his cock as you nudge the ridge of it with the flat of your tongue.

Oral isn’t as romantic as some people would lead you to believe.  You’ve done this before, of course.  It’s never been any grand occasion in your opinion.  The smells are funky and the taste is sour.  But John….

The sounds he makes are the most erotic noises you’ve heard in your life.  They fill your head and rattle around as you slide your tongue over his slit. 

“D-dave, I’m gonna….”

You take him all the way in and a strangled yell echoes off the walls.  Come slips down your throat, hot and sudden inside of you.  You milk him to the last drop while his hands busy themselves in your hair.

Your shades are all fogged by the time you pull yourself back up, swiping a lingering hair from your bottom lip.  John lies there, panting up at you with cherry-pink cheeks and wet lips, the sparkle of his eyes smoldering gently.

No one has ever been so lovely in your life.

His hands slide down your face and he pulls the glasses away, slowly. 

No, you take it back.  Now that you can see him perfectly….  _Now_  he’s an absolute angel.

You settle on your forearms; they frame around him as you tilt your head and smooth your tongue into his mouth.  His sigh gusts against your nose and his teeth knock against yours a bit.  Apparently he doesn’t mind the taste of his own spunk; he laps at the roof of your mouth like there’s a lollipop stuck to it.

His tongue is hot and soft against yours.  When you press against him a little, you can already feel him growing hard again, if he hasn’t felt you against his own hip anyway.

Eventually you pull back to get another look at him and he gigglesnorts with an embarrassed glance to the side.

“Well…uh,” he mutters, “that certainly was the  _fastest_  I’ve ever gotten off.”  You smirk at him.

“I think I know a way we could improve that stamina of yours,” you suggest.

Your name is Dave and your oldest friend is going to be your newest lover.

Coming up===> John: Introduce friends to boyfriend.   Dave: Give Karkat a  _real_ lapdance.


	3. Chapter 3

Your name is John and this is the first time you’ve been in a limo.  It’s one of those shiny silver stretched-out ones with awesome lighting inside (like blue and purple and cool stuff like that) and there’s a mini bar too.  But none of that is cool enough to distract you from Dave’s eyes.

He took his shades off again after you both got in the car.  Then you tugged on his shoulder until he put his head in your lap so you could just stare down into those fiery irises.  You had forgotten how striking his eyes were.  That moment when you took his glasses off back in the dressing room….

Honestly, after he…uh, after he did _that_ to you, you were worried about things getting weird.  But as soon as you looked straight into his eyes again, you decided not to care.  That scarlet was magic; it was painted in the true colors of Dave Strider’s heart.  You were adored in that gaze.  How could you feel anything but happy in those eyes?

You and Dave kissed for a long, long time.  You hadn’t made out with too many people in your lifetime but you knew for a fact that kissing Dave was one of the most excellent things ever.  Even though it made you absolutely insane, you loved it.

Hell, you loved it _because_ it made you insane.

After you agreed to be his boyfriend (wow…boyfriend…that was still kinda funny in your head), he rolled over on the couch and settled you on top of himself.  You went right back to kissing him.  His steady hands smoothed down your shoulders and spine until they came to rest, warm on the curve of your ass.  Even though you were the one on top, that kiss was all his.

His mouth was sour in some places but the wet heat of it was enough to make your heart overflow into your head.  The way he moved his tongue—slow and sure against your own—made your insides crumple in on themselves until you were a writhing mess, rutting against him.

He chuckled and called you cute.

And then he did something that you’re trying not to think too hard about because his head’s currently in your lap and he’d definitely notice!

Suffice to say that he took care of things: his problem and your problem.  Then the two of you got yourselves decent again and Dave said he’d take you home.  But not before you stopped by to say hi to Bro. 

It was really cool.  Dave took you up to his office (this super-swanky looking loft that overlooked the club with walls made out of two-way mirror glass) and the guy gave you a nice smile and a pat on the head.  And a bottle of apple juice, which was silly but so sentimental that you almost shed a tear.

You were invited to have dinner with both of them next week and then Bro buzzed his limo driver and that put you here.  You can’t stop smiling. The longer you keep it up, the brighter Dave’s grin gets, slowly easing from that cool-kid smirk to one of unbridled joy.

You keep thinking it’s amazing how everything just feels so right.  Your fingers twirl and fiddle with strands of his hair and you count the freckles on his cheeks.

It makes time go by a lot faster, for whatever reason, because you’re home before you’ve even realized it. 

“Already?” you say as you look out of the window.  There’s your house with Gamzee sitting on the porch, smoking.  Though the cigarette’s kinda hanging out of his mouth and he’s gaping at the limo, which makes you laugh.

“Don’t let your heart break too much,” Dave says, sitting up slowly so he doesn’t crash his forehead into your chin. 

“Shut up,” you say and shove him playfully before going to open the door.

“Wait.”

And you do, turning around so you’re looking back into Dave’s eyes.  He reaches into your pocket and pulls your cellphone out, messing with it for a bit before handing it back to you.

“My number’s in there,” he tells you.  “Call me.”

You stare at the phone in awe for a second and then give your toothiest grin to him.  When he chuckles, you lean and kiss him again.  Not a sloppy-sexy makeout kiss but one of the cute little ones where you nibble his bottom lip at the last second.

“Of course I will,” you tell him.  You bump your forehead into his, tell him goodbye and get out of the car.  You can’t see him through the tinted glass, but you wave anyway as the limo continues down the street.

“So what, were you recruited or something?”

The question startles you because you hadn’t noticed anyone come up to you as you watched Dave drive away until you couldn’t see him anymore.

Rose is standing there with her eyebrows up and her smile wily, waiting for your answer.  You roll your eyes.

“Yeah, my name is Mimi Dreamthighs and I specialize in hanging upside-down with my legs open.”  You stick your tongue out at her and then the both of you go back inside so you can explain to everyone in one go.

As soon as you walk through the door, Karkat bolts up from his seat and starts babbling on and on, ranging from, “What kind of numbskull are you?” to, “Oh my god, are you alright?” and then, “I’m never going back to that shithole place again,” finally concluding with, “Why is there glitter on your face?”

All this while he walks in circles around you, prodding you in different places like some mother hen, only he’s real bony so every time he does, it hurts.

“Calm down, my man,” Gamzee says, tugging Karkat away from you after he closes the door behind him.  “Let a brother sit down so he can fill us in on the motherfuckin’ deal.” 

“Yeah, but—”

He’s cut off when Gamzee pulls him onto the couch next to him and proceeds to make this little shooshing noises at him.

Karkat grumbles something about his breath stinking of cigarettes but shuts up.

“You alright there, John?” Jake asks now that he has the opportunity to speak.  He gives you a warm smile, but you can see the flicker of concern in his green eyes.

“I’m completely fine,” you assure him. And then you sit down in your favorite armchair and everyone looks at you like they’re waiting for the results for some cancerous illness exam. So you tell them.

It’s terminal: you’re absolutely lovesick.

John: Be future Dave Strider.

You are now future Dave Strider.  It’s been two days since you last saw John and almost a week since you started going out with him.  At the moment, you’re spraying Bactine on your hand because you just clocked a guy so hard in the face that it ripped some of your skin off when you caught his teeth.

Horny dumbass decided that it was going to be a really nice idea to put his fingers where they don’t belong.  Maybe before you wouldn’t have cared so much, but now you have to guard yourself a little more.

It’s tough, being one in your profession and maintaining a lover at the same time.  John insisted that he didn’t mind your job and that he wasn’t going to demand you quit or anything.  You figured the least you could do for him was make sure other guys weren’t putting their hands on you. 

You may have been a good eyeful for the crowd but your body was exclusive to the touch of your cute little derp of a boyfriend now.

Bro had no problem agreeing when you came to him with your new personal policy.  You were pretty sure he didn’t appreciate anyone touching you to begin with.  So he went ahead and made it law: Spitfire can touch you, but you can’t touch Spitfire.

After you punched that dumbass hard enough to redirect the bloodflow from his crotch to his nose, Bro had him thrown out as a warning to everyone else. 

You’re smiling as you admire your Bro’s authority when your phone buzzes on the counter next to you.  It’s John.  You smile a little more as you read his text. 

_My friends want to meet you.  Are you free to come over tomorrow night?_

Yeah, of course you are.  You text him back and he’s all stupid buck-toothed smiley-faces at you. 

And then like some wildly convenient plot device, time seems to slip by for the next day and before you know it, you’re standing on the porch of the house you haven’t been to in over a decade.  You take a second and touch your fingers to the peeling paint on the front door.

You don’t have much time to dwell on your nostalgia, though.  John rips open the door and jumps on you with happy cry of, “Dave!”

You chuckle and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his hair.  He smells like brownies.

“God, have you been baking?” you ask him, a murmur in his ear. 

"What? No, never!” John wiggles out of your arms and scrunches his nose up at you.  “It’s Gamzee.  He’s a sweet-toothed idiot.   Makes dessert every night."

The super-tall guy who you saw smoking outside the house last time comes up behind John and rests his chin on top of John’s head.

“Want one?” he asks you, dangling a plate of brownies in front of your face.  “They’re motherfuckin’ excellent, for sure.”

“Yeah,” you say, taking one.  “Thanks.”

“No problem, bro.”  Gangly stoner-face there backs up so John can take you further into the house.

“So, yeah,” John says, bringing you to a couch in the living room. “That’s Gamzee.  And these people are Jake, Kanaya, Rose and Karkat.  Everyone, this is Dave.”

You glance around to each person John points to and they all smile at you (except for that Kitkat-shortie).

“Sup?” you say.  You munch on your brownie as everyone starts saying their hellos.  Damn if it isn’t the most excellent you’ve ever had.

First up is the tanned and muscled fellow, Jake.  He grabs your hand and pumps it firmly with a grin full of glistening white teeth.  “I must say, it’s wonderful to finally meet you,” he says after he lets your hand go.

“Yeah, for sure,” you return.  John loves talking about his friends.  At first, you were kinda bitter that they got to have him while he was in high school, but you have him now.  That’s all that matters.  Your arm tightens around John’s waist when the thought occurs to you.

Jake sits back down again and you look over to the two ladies.  They’re sitting close and holding hands, smiling at you kindly between bites of brownies.  Well, ain’t that precious?  They seem the most chill and sensible ones in the room. 

“’Evening,” you say, with a nod in their direction.

“Yes, it’s good to see your face and know that you’re not just some name,” the blonde girl Rose says.  “John’s told us so much.  Is it true that you were there the night we went to Marionette?” 

“Uh, R-rose?” 

You glance sidelong at John.  His face is doing that blush-blooming thing again.  You shake him a little bit to let him know that everything’s cool.  Kid may be kinda uncomfortable with shit like that, but you sure as hell aren’t.

“Yep,” you say.  “I was working the floor while you’re buddy there,” you jab a thumb at Kitkat, “was getting smothered.”

“For Christ’s sake!” the shorty yells.  He buries his face in his hands and groans.

“Oh, that explains it,” the Kanaya girl says.  “We were a bit distracted to notice you.  Karkat really wouldn’t let us focus on anything else.”

“Neither did that lapdance motherfucker,” Gamzee adds lazily, reaching over to muddle his fingers in Shorty’s hair.  “Kinda all up in your face, wuddn’t he?”

“John had no problem spotting you, though,” Rose continues. “I’m a bit curious to see what your routines are like, that being said.  Must be something if you got him to break out of his self-imposed blindfold.”  John is looking at his feet.

Jake starts laughing.   

“Do you think you could give us a show then, good sir?  We can’t pay you but—”

“I could.”  Rose reaches into her pocket and pulls out a couple of ones.

“Rose!” John says.

“Nah,” you say.  “I don’t know how cool my boy here would be with that.  And I don’t much feel like distressing that heart of his.”

You hear one of the girls make a cooing sound as you look over into John’s blue-blue eyes and sweetly pink face.

“W-well,” he mumbles, biting his bottom lip and fiddling with your fingers.  “I don’t mind you dancing, if you want.  Just…just keep your clothes on?”

You smirk just a little and bump your forehead against his.

“I’ll make it pretty for you.”  You stand up and take your mp3 player out of your pocket, looking over at the stereo system.  “And don’t you pay me, girl,” you say to Rose.  “This ain’t work.  This is just for shits and giggles, a’right?”

“Sure,” Rose says behind you.  John gets up to help you plug in your sounds.

“Are you kidding?” Kitkat starts wailing.  “I have to sit through this shit _again_?!”

“Son, you don’t know what you’re saying,” you tell him.  “ ‘Magicstick’ Ampora can’t get anyone up for beans.  Spitfire will start some sick fires in you.  I guarantee it.”

“Antidote” by Swedish House Mafia starts up; John quickly scampers back to his seat on the couch, looking excited; you take the center of the floor and flick your eyebrow up at Kitkat.

He shuts up quick.

Dave: Be the mute candy bar.

Fuck you, you aren’t a fucking candy bar.  Your name is _Kar_ kat, goddammit.  But you can’t really protest that because you are indeed shocked into silence.

It’s funny…. You’re not even really sure why you’re you suddenly.  Isn’t this story about someone else? Why not be one of them?  Go back to being the derp over there on the sofa, or hell, go be the guy in the middle of the room with those...those crazy hips.

What?  No, okay, that’s not happening.  You don’t have the focus to change perspectives at the moment.

All you can do it grip your fingers very tightly into the couch you’re sitting on and wish desperately to look away.

You’re still staring, though.

This guy Dave….  He’s got a waist like a bellydancer.  He grinds and dips, his hands tugging up the hem of his shirt just to show a peek of hipbone before it’s covered again. 

He moves right in time with the music, as if it was the very pulse in his veins.  You’re vaguely aware of your friends around you catcalling and goading him on, laughing.  He’s just eating it up.  It’s really easy to imagine the room darker, strobes and LED lights highlighting the sinews of him.

You don’t even stop yourself from thinking it: he’s beautiful.

The music is slowing from its heavy beats and changing to some synthesized lyrics.  And, oh fuck, he’s slinking his way towards you, swaying those hips from side to side.  You can’t see his eyes through the shades, but you know he’s staring right at you, if that smirk isn’t any indication.

You press yourself back, back, further back into the couch, your face rapidly accommodating the proper temperature to boil mercury.

“Watch close,” he whispers –when did he suddenly invade your space?—“but don’t touch.”

The beat starts picking up again and he’s turning.  Slowly, slowly, he’s turning, all the while rolling those hips.  To the right, to the left, straight backwards and your eyes are _glued_ to that stunning ass.

Before you really have any more time to realize it, he dips again, knees bending, and that ass is right in your lap.

Everyone around you starts screeching and laughing even louder, pointing at you with lewd comments.  But you don’t give a shit about them.

Dave is barely touching you, but there is still the occasional bump and nudge of his ass against you. It rubs against your thigh and touches the curve of denim at the zipper in your jeans.

You alternate between watching the smooth bounce of his rear against your legs and the gyrating of his torso, his hands sliding along that pillar of his neck and down the front of his chest.  His head rolls back.

You want to touch him.  Want it so bad.  Want him to just give it up and shove himself down into your lap so you can grind up against that perfect ass of his.

Your eyes shut as you picture it.  You know those magic hips of his could get you up and all the way back down in a matter of minutes.  You’re digging your fingers down into the couch so hard that you’ve put holes in the upholstery. 

There’s a slow stroke of fingers along the length of your thigh and your eyes snap open.  Dave is pulling away, returning to the middle of the floor to finish up his dance now that the music’s starting to die down.

You’re trying to swipe drool from your lip without getting caught.

Dave kisses the air at you and hits the final beat of the song.  Everyone applauds.  John jumps up and runs over to Dave to give him a kiss.

You slowly look to Gamzee who’s been sitting on your left side this entire time.  He looks back at you with raised eyebrows and a grin that’s more subdued than usual.

“I’m fucked,” you mouth at him.  He nods a bit.

You look back at Dave, who’s holding John comfortably against him and trying to keep back a smile.  John’s just beaming up at him. 

Yeah, this story is supposed to be about someone else.  But suddenly, you’re in it.

 

Coming up ===> John: Take Dave out on his first date.  Karkat: Bang your head against the wall until something helpful happens. Like amnesia.


	4. Chapter 4

Your name is Dave and you honestly never thought this would happen to you.  It’s getting to be evening.  You’re sitting on a park bench with your hands in your pockets and your shades gleaming while you scope that choice ass a few yards from you.

It’s John’s.

He’s over there buying ice cream from a street vendor and you’re starting to think you don’t ever want to see him in jeans again because those shorts are like icing on the cake of those sweet cheeks.

Your fingers flex in your pockets because you can help but want to get up and grab a handful, but you’re not gonna do that.  Not here, anyway.  Save it for later.

“You were looking at my ass, weren’t you?” John asks as he returns to you, a cone in either hand.  You shrug. 

“And if I was?”  You accept the strawberry mousse he offers you and tug him onto the bench.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, going straight for the swirl of pistachio on his waffle cone.  You slide your arm around his waist and pull until his hip bumps yours and his thigh presses against you.

Yeah, you really never pictured your life with you being asked out on a date by another guy before.  But you aren’t finding any issue with it so far.

That night you went to go meet his friends, you stayed really late.  And near the end, you leaned over and asked John if he wanted to come back to your place.

All red ears and precious, he agreed and you said goodbye to everyone before taking off. 

John didn’t say much on the way back.  Obviously nervous because he knew exactly what it meant to accept an invitation like that.  Even so, he kept his hand over yours on the stick shift the entire drive, tightening his grip when you got to red lights and rubbing his thumb in little circles.

When you finally reached your apartment—just this studio with white walls, unblinded windows and sparse furniture—he came up behind you and hugged you before you could turn around to lock the door.

“I don’t,” he muttered against your shoulders, “I don’t think I can…tonight.  Not all the way….”

Your heart dropped out and hit your toes before you pulled it back up to where it belonged.  Sure, it was a disappointment, but it’s not like he was denying you everything forever.

“It’s alright,” you told him.  He let go and you turned around to push him against the door and kiss him. 

His kisses were the best.  They were awkward and toothy and slow, like he was carefully exploring every place in your mouth he could get to.  And you helped him along with your patented Strider makeout magic. 

Wasn’t much you loved more than sucking on that boy’s tongue.  Other than sucking on every other part of him, that is.

So with that idea in mind, you pulled him over to your bed and nudged his hip with your knee until he fell back.  As soon as his ass hit the bed, you worked on getting his pants off, pulling the boxers away with them. 

“Wh—again?” he said, dazed and cute with that haze of blush on his cheeks only just visible in the shadows of the unlit space.

“You don’t like it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No, I love it,” he admitted, the enthusiasm all too apparent in his voice.  He sat up a bit more and reached for your shades, pulling them off gently.  He folded them and hung them on the front of his shirt (which made him look kinda awkward, but it was simultaneously adorable, so you kept your mouth shut.).  “Just, what about you?  I feel like I never do anything for you.” 

A true look of distress bubbled up in those blue eyes and John frowned until you started smiling to try and coax him back.

“Well, if you really want to do something for me,” you said, “you could—”

“Oh, I know!” he interrupted, reaching out to grab your shoulders.  He pulled you up as he stood and turned until you were the one sitting on the bed and he was kneeling between your knees.

You were just starting to think that the boy may have been psychic when he grabbed your hand and asked, “Dave, will you go on a date with me?”

You looked down at his face and his awkwadorable ensemble (or lack of one) and laughed.

“Yeah, sure, Egbert,” you said.  “Now stand up and gimme what I brought you here for.”

There are now so many hickeys under John’s shorts that you can officially be the Love Bite Maestro.   One of your favorite things about John is that he bruises easily and stays that way for a good while.So those marks you left aren’t disappearing anytime soon, even though that night was two days ago.

You smile as you think about it. You yourself aren’t as susceptible but John gave you a couple in return anyway.  One on your hip and a couple on your chest.  Apparently he was rather keen on the idea of your nipple rings.  He played with them for hours.  Which was _so_ alright with you, especially when his teasing and licking came with an accompanying handjob. 

May have been a noob at the whole sex thing, but his creativity and curiosity made up for that ten times over.

You’re trying to think about something else as you sit there with your dripping ice cream and your pants are getting a bit uncomfortable.

So you switch to think about all the sweet vinyl that John bought for you.  Apparently, his excellent concept of taking you out on a date meant swinging by Velvet Beats and buying everything you looked at. 

At first you were kinda knocked on your ass by how much money he insisted on spending on you.  But then he said that it was to make up for all the years he couldn’t get you birthday and Christmas presents.  You weren’t sure if that made you happy or guilty that you hadn’t thought of something similar.

But anyway, you scored a fine stack after that trip and were so eager to make some sick new mixes.  Lay down some fresh tracks for your routines, while you’re at it.

“Whacha thinkin’ about?” John asks you, breaking into your contemplation.

You scratch gently at his waist and say, “Not a lot.  Mostly you.”

“How romantic,” he teases you.

“Ain’t nothing romantic about the things I think of you,” you tell him before taking a bite of your cone.  “Would make your Dad’s hat flip right off his head.”

“Oh really?”

You look over at him and he’s looking back at you.  His eyes all blue and sultry behind his glasses.

“Yeah, and then he’d punch me in the face,” you say, trying not to care so much about his wet, pink tongue stroking against the pale green swath of ice cream.

“Well, better not tell him then,” John laughs and knocks his head against your shoulder.

“Wasn’t planning on it.”  You finish off your cone and toss the napkin into the nearest trashcan.

“Done, then?” John asks you, as he finishes up as well.

“Yep.  Where to next?”

Dave: Be the guy who knows where you’re going.

You’re now the guy who has a destination in mind.  Jake was nice enough to let you borrow his Jeep for today.  And now you’re taking Dave to the final destination of today’s date.

It’s a long drive.  By the time you’re anywhere near your goal, you’ve passed the city limits.  The land is flat and stretches for miles with no end sight.  But here, you can see all the all the stars.  They aren’t blocked out by the brownish glow of street lamps and neon signs.

When you finally stop, Dave’s looking less than impressed.  But you expected that.  You’re still grinning at him, eyebrows waggling.

“You’re serious?” he asks.  “What the hell are we doing here?”

“It’s a surprise!” you tell him and get out of the car. 

You’ve parked in front of the abandoned hospital.  It’s been out here for as long as you can remember, covered in ivy.  It’s probably haunted.  And overflowing with asbestos.  But none of that matters to you.

“If you brought me here to do some fucking Ghostbusters roleplay, then I just gotta tell ya…” Dave says as he gets out of the car.

“I didn’t,” you insist.  “Come on.” You start walking towards the building, unable to help the little eager skip in your step.  Your heart is pounding wildly with anticipation.  Twice as much, even, because Dave doesn’t know.  You have enough excitement for the both of you.

It takes a while to get there.  You could only get in through the window since the front door is chained and then the walk up the many flights of stairs takes forever.

You swear to god you’re never doing this again; there’s definitely something haunting this place.  But this is for Dave and you can deal with a ghost for him.

“Am I gonna get tetanus before the night is up?” he asks as you finally reach the door to the roof.

“Shut up,” you say, a bit breathless.  You push open the door and turn around to smile at him, gesturing so he’ll go out ahead of you.

It’s just a roof, really.  But you got Gamzee and Jake to come with you and clean it up.  So there’s no garbage or dirt up here.  There’s some graffiti in some places, but you figured Dave would probably like the estranged tags anyway. 

Yep, there’s nothing up here.  Nothing except a mattress.  You were the one who put it there (with you friends’ help, of course).

You close the door and go over to join Dave, taking his hand.

“Do you get it yet?” you ask as you walk with him to the middle of the roof, where the mattress is.

“Are we gonna cuddle under the stars?” he asks you, smirking.  “Didn’t think you were that cheesy.”

“Oh, I’m definitely that cheesy,” you assure him with a laugh as you both sit down. “But you’re only half right.”

He raises an eyebrow at you and you grin back, moving close to put your lips to his ear like he always does to you.

“Take your clothes off,” you say.

“But John,” he whispers back, “I do that all the time.  Why don’t _you_ take my clothes off?”

“Because then I can’t get mine off.” 

He’s more compliant after you say that. 

So you’re both stripping, sneaking kisses between articles of clothing being shed.  When you’re both naked, you climb over Dave and nestle yourself against him.  You cannot believe how hard you are.  You’ve barely even done anything. 

It’s your own expectations.  You’re still not going all the way.  Of course you’re not, you didn’t bring lube or anything.  But hopefully, this will be enough to tide the both of you over for now.

His arms come up and around your waist, holding you tightly.  You take off your own glasses and then his shades, putting them both on the little pile of clothes next to the mattress.

You look down at him, supporting yourself on your forearms as you gaze into his eyes and the summer midnight falls soft on your sweaty shoulders.

“Dave,” you murmur, your teeth tugging at your bottom lip a little.  “Dave, I—I’m so happy.”

He’s smiling.  When he lifts himself up a bit to kiss you, the heat of his erection strokes against your hip and you moan softly into his mouth.

“I bet I’m happier than you are,” he says back after finishing the kiss with a little suckle of your tongue.

“Now who’s cheesy?” you say before dipping down to his chest and wrapping your lips around his nipple.  He’s wearing silver studs today.  They’re warm against your tongue and the gasps he makes press right up into your mouth.

Dave’s fingers scratch gently into your shoulders; you reach a hand down and smooth your own fingers up his length, drawing a shudder out of him.

You don’t linger too long.  After a few moments, you draw even lower, kissing the line down his chest, over his bellybutton (you nudge your tongue into it just to make him squirm a bit) and along his hip.

Dave is…well equipped, if you do say so.  His cock is long and slender, suiting his proportions well.  It’s curved just a bit; a pearl of precum has budded right at the slit. 

You run your tongue along your teeth and then dip down to swipe the bead away.  Tastes awful.  But Dave just let out this choked moan, his head thrown back and his mouth open.

That’s what you’re going for, there.  You smile at him and he looks back down at you, lips parted and breathing heavy.  Now he really gets it.  This is the first time you’ve done this for him.  And you’re going to do it until—eyes open or closed—he’ll only see stars.

You open your mouth again and descend, tongue first, until you’ve taken most of him in.  You’ve never done this before, but Dave’s done it for you a couple times.  Can’t be that hard to emulate.  You’re not going to deep-throat him; that would just be stupid.

But you do slowly bob your head, pressing your tongue against his hardness as you do.  Every now and then, you lick along the ridge of the head and he makes the most ungodly noises.  You don’t know why you didn’t do this sooner.

“John….  John!”

You lift your eyes and look at him without taking your lips from him.  He’s propped up on his elbows and breathing hard as he looks down at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Get your ass over here,” he growls and jerks his head to one side. 

You can just feel your eyebrows shoot up towards your hairline.  You pull away, scraping your teeth against him just barely (enough to make him gasp) and maneuver yourself until you’re straddling his face.

“This is really embarrassing,” you say.

“You mean fucking hot,” he corrects you.  And then he swallows you.  You take that as your cue to get back to what you were doing.  And you do so happily.  His hands are sliding up your thighs and around your ass cheeks, tugging them apart.

You stifle a groan and continue rubbing the tip of your tongue along the head of Dave’s cock.  You’re trying desperately to focus on your own work because if you get too caught up in what _he’s_ doing, you’ll be gone before you know it.

You stroke your hands back and forth along his thighs, feeling the fine, blond hairs shifting under your fingers as you lavish kisses and licks to his throbbing erection. 

Dave is licking you from tip to balls and you’re going crazy.

“Dave,” you take a moment to whine at him.

“Just do it, John,” he says to you, slowly stroking your erection.  “Come for me.” 

You take hold of his cock and pump it as you wrap your lips around it once more, determined not to get off before he does.  But then you feel the fiery, wet slide of his tongue against your hole and you lose it.

You moan and tighten your lips around him when you do, the soft sounds of your cum hitting Dave’s chest niggling in your ears.

You try not to pause in your attentions, though now you’re moaning on every downstroke.  That seems to suit Dave just fine because only a minute later, he’s digging his nails into your back and gasping your name.

His cum fills your mouth and makes you cringe away, the rest of it splashing against your lips.  You shift yourself so when you sit up, you’re not crushing Dave’s face.  You force yourself to swallow, but wipe away the mess on your mouth.

Dave grabs you around the waist and pulls you down next to him, wrapping his legs around yours before going in for a long kiss.

His lips are wet and you’re only half thinking about how his tongue was in your ass—which is totally gross—but you’re again deciding that you don’t care because it’s Dave.  You love everything Dave does to you.

You’re not gonna turn down his kisses for any reason.  They’re just too good.

When he finally pulls away and presses forehead against yours, he tells you that this was the best day ever.

You tell him that you’ll fix that soon.

John: Be the guy far, far away.

You are now Karkat Vantas and you’re banging your head against your bedroom wall.  It’s the only thing you can think of to do with yourself.

Right now, John and Dave are probably off somewhere doing it and you’re still haunted by the memories of Dave’s dancing from a few days ago. 

You deliberately made yourself scarce when John asked for help from the other guys to set up some ideal romantic setting for his date.  You didn’t want any part of it.  Your brain is rather ripped in two.

John’s one of your best friends.  He’s like your little brother (even though you’re shorter than him).  He’s just golden, no matter how much of an idiot he is.  He always knows how to make you smile.  And you owe him so much for all the wonderful things he’s done for your life.

He’s the guy who moved out of East-Jesus-Nowhere and didn’t give a shit about how much of a ‘nerd’ you were among the other kids who already knew you.  He sat right next to you in class and during lunch and wouldn’t shut the fuck up about his stupid movies until you agreed to play video games with him sometime.

He was your first friend outside of Gamzee, who you’ve known practically since birth.

Your sudden burst of awkward and unrequited feelings for John’s boyfriend are absolutely inappropriate and that’s why you’re banging your head against the wall.

Because no matter how much you tell yourself he’s off limits, no matter how much you care about John and know it would just shatter his heart, you can’t bring yourself to forget the way Dave Strider made you feel.

And that’s because Dave is the first person you’ve met who has _ever_ made you feel that way so strongly.  You’re never going to forget it.

And it’s going to suck.  It already does.

 

Coming up ===> Dave: Get out of there before the drugs kick in. Karkat: Make a decision you’re going to regret the rest of your life.


	5. Chapter 5

Your name doesn’t matter.  Right now, all you are is wrecked.  Your mind isn’t functioning; it’s nothing but scrambled meat sloshing around in your skull.  Your body is all fucked up.  And this is the one time in your life that you wish that particular expression weren’t so literal.

You breathe.  You breathe again.  It hurts.  A lot.  But you’re breathing. 

Next is moving.  Can you sit up?  Yeah…you can.  But it hurts more than breathing. 

You slowly push yourself upright and look around.  Your shades have been thrown halfway across the room.  They’re broken.  Your phone is a bit closer.  That guy stepped on it earlier.  But when you pull it over, you find that the screen is just a bit cracked.  It still works.

You call your Bro.  He doesn’t pick up.  You didn’t expect him to.  He’s in Vegas for a showcase for the rest of the week.  You leave him a message.

“Call….  Meh-buh….  Call me.  K-kay?”

You turn your phone off and manage to successfully get it into your pocket after a minute of fumbling.  Then it takes you about five more similar minutes to get your pants back on.

It takes a little while longer to get over to the remnants of your shades.  One by one, you pick up the bent and shattered pieces, sometimes dropping them with your trembling fingers.  You gather them in your left hand.  And when they’re all together, you close your fingers around them.

They dig into your palm in some places and hurt.  You breathe some more.

And now you’re trying to decide if you should cry.  And if you do, should you do it here or where John is?

You hiccup.  It’s your body reacting to how your heart is suddenly dead in your chest.  You decide that you won’t cry.  That’s just not something you do.  It’s not cool.  And you’re the cool kid.  There’s no excuse for not being cool.

You use your free hand to get your phone out of your pocket again and you dial up your Bro’s chauffer because at least _he_ didn’t go to Vegas.

After you manage to finally tell him to come get you, you hang up and drop your phone on the floor.  Your hands are shaking too much.  So you grip the pieces even tighter.  They cut into you.

More blood runs out of you.  But at least you can see where it hurts you.  Unlike the blood that runs down your leg and the blood that’s blooming under your skin.

You would make yourself throw up; maybe that would get whatever that assfuck shoved down your throat out of you.  But you have a feeling that it’s too late for that.  So you just gotta leave.  Get out.  Go where someone will take care of you.

Go to where John is.

Even if he can’t look you in the eyes after he finds out, you know that he won’t abandon you to deal with this alone.

….

Come on; you weren’t going to cry, remember?

Dave: Be the guy who actually has a name that matters.

You are now the guy who has a name and that name is Karkat.  You’re wallowing because you don’t really know any other way to deal with emotional shit other than yelling and at the moment, there’s no one to yell at. 

The house is empty; everyone went out to go see that movie that you don’t care about.  So you’re in the living room, burrowed in the corner of the couch with your laptop, fourteen chapters into some harlequin romance some nobody has written and posted on the internet. 

It’s god awful but it goes well with that half a tube of cookie dough you honestly didn’t think you were going to eat.

You’re doing your very best to not think about how pathetic you’re being right now.

Who the fuck cares?  Not like there’s anyone here to watch you be lame. And even if there were, it still wouldn’t matter.  You don’t act much differently to begin with.  You’re just a bit grumpier than usual. 

You’re just about to get up and get yourself another pink lemonade when something collides with the front door.

You jump a little since it startles you.  Then you keep very still and stare wide-eyed at the door and wonder if you should run to Jake’s room and grab some of his guns.  Fuck if you know how to use them but sometimes just having them in your hands is enough to let people know you’re not going to make things easy.

“Jooohhnnn….” 

You blink.  Okay, so whoever it is isn’t a complete stranger.  You stand up on the couch and walk over to the windows.  You pull back the curtains just enough to peek an eye out. 

Dave Strider is slumped against the front door.  There’s blood on his hand.

“Jesus shit!”

You run to the door and unlock it.  Dave falls right against you and you catch him just barely.  He’s taller than you and he isn’t doing a very good job of holding himself up, so you’re struggling.

“Dammit, Strider, get on your feet before you crush me to death!”

He does get to his feet, but he’s still using you as a support beam.  His left hand is bleeding all over your shirt—good thing it’s black.  And that’s when you realize that he’s not wearing his shades.

His eyes look right into yours.  Your heart stops for just that second; they’re red.  So red.

But then they’re kinda rolling around in his skull and he’s blinking in weird patterns.

“Holy shit, what’s the matter with you?” you ask him.  Your question comes out rather gently in comparison to the terrified thrumming of your heart in your chest. 

“Drugs,” is all his says. 

You furrow your brow a bit, but manage to drag him over to the couch and get him to sit down on it.  You didn’t take Strider for a junkie.  He certainly didn’t seem like one.  Not at all.  But, then again, you suppose his line of work tends to bolster such things.

Whatever.  You’re not going to judge.  The guy’s bleeding.  He needs fixing up, not a lecture.

“Stay there,” you tell him.  You leave him to go look for bandages.  All the while, you’re thinking on the glossy burning of those ruby red irises.  You don’t think you’ll ever forget them.

You eventually locate a first aid kit and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide.  It latently occurs to you that you should probably call John….

No, no.  You need to take care of Dave first.  He’s here right now, bleeding.  John can know after you’re sure Dave is alright.

You kneel down in front of Dave.  He’s got his head lolled back and his mouth open, breathing all wrong.  He takes deep inhales and rushed exhales.  Then just sits there, not breathing at all for a few seconds before he takes another inhale.

It’s kinda scaring you.

You set the plastic box and the bottle next to you on the floor. And then you notice that he’s not wearing shoes.  And there’s blood streaking his feet.  You furrow your brow.

“Dave,” you say and reach for his bloody fist at the same time.  “Dave?”

“Huh,” he grunts.

“Are your legs hurt somewhere?”  You look at his hand.  He’s clenching pieces of wire and dark plastic between his fingers.  His shades.  You frown a little deeper and find yourself gently stroking his knuckles.  Slowly, his hand opens.

“Nah,” he says, head still thrown back. 

“Why is there blood on your feet, then?”  You pick the pieces from his hand, one by one, setting them on the open lid of the first aid kit.

“Cuz ah….  ‘M bleedih….”

You huff a mirthless chuckle and decide not to press for answers.  Whatever’s wrong with him, you’ll fix it in time.  You can do that, you’re sure.

You bandage his hand quickly.  You put some of that pain-reliever cream on the bruises he has on his face and some disinfectant on the cuts around his wrists. 

As you go along, your mind starts to tilt in weird directions.

What in the world got him these injuries?

He’s sleeping now.  But he still has something wrong with his legs.

“Dave, hey….  Dammit, wake up.”  You jostle his shoulder a bit until he opens his eyes and stares soullessly at you.

“Whassa?” he asks, a little smirk quirking at you.  It makes your heart jolt, especially now that those fired eyes see right into you.

“I need to get your pants off,” you tell him, blush rising in your cheeks, “So I can see what’s wrong with your legs, okay?”

“Gentle….”

You bite your lip.  Of course you’ll be gentle….  He doesn’t need to say it like that.  Doesn’t…like you’re about to….  God fucking dammit.

You huff out an angry breath and kneel again.  When you finally manage to get him to lift his hips up so you can get his jeans off, your insides evacuate your body.

He didn’t cut his leg.  That blood…it’s dripping from under his boxers.  Along with pink-and-white marbled mucous-looking fluid.

You have lost your ability to breathe.

It’s been shoved out of the way to make room for a heavy and disgusting emotion that’s steadily rising from your toes to the top of your head.

You need to go to Jake’s room.  You need to find the biggest gun he owns.  And then you need to find that shit-eating ass-sniffing motherfucker and pummel him full of lead until he turns inside out and his disease-rotted balls come out of his mouth.

“Hey…Kitkat.”

There’s a hand on your face and you look up.  Dave’s there, head slumped against his shoulder as he looks down at you.  And he’s still smiling at you, only it’s a kind grin.  Not one that’s hiding behind that cool-kid demeanor he sports.

“’S okay.  Don’…cry.”

But you can’t stop.

You take the hand he holds against your cheek and press your face into it. 

You need to do something.  The impulse rises quickly and becomes overwhelming desire.  So you stop thinking and just do it.

You get off your knees and crawl over him, putting your arms around his shoulders and your lips to his strangle-marked neck.  Your wet face smears against his battered skin.

“Goddammit, Strider,” you choke out.  He chuckles at you and rubs your back.

“Ah know, right?”

You pull back and stare into his face.  There’s a shimmering ribbon of wetness highlighting each of those scarlet eyes. 

You’re still operating on that overwhelming desire thing.

So you don’t hesitate to lean in and kiss him.

Karkat: Be the happy kid.

You are now the happy kid.  Your name is John and you’re discussing the movie you just watched with your friend Jake.  The both of you agree that it was an absolutely spectacular feature with plenty of mangrit and hot blue chicks for you to fangasm over for weeks to come.

Kanaya and Rose are chatting softly behind you and Gamzee is already at the front door.  The weird thing is that even though he door is open, he hasn’t gone inside.

“What’s up, Gam?” you ask, bounding up next to him.  “Were the forcefields finally insta—”

You stop.  Because you see.

Gamzee is the first to move after Karkat jerks his head up in horror.  He yanks him right out of Dave’s lap.  Karkat doesn’t sound pleased.  He’s yelling.  Yelling your name, actually.  Saying things like, ‘wait’ and ‘you don’t understand’ but before you hear whatever excuse he’s come up with, he’s muffled.  Maybe Gamzee’s put a hand over his mouth; you don’t know. 

You’re staring at Dave with his pants on the floor and his head laying back looking dazed _with his shades off_.  Passive.  He didn’t even try to push Karkat away.  His sunglasses…. You notice them on the ground.  In pieces.  Like someone stepped on them.

Jake, Kanaya and Rose area all kind of gathered around you, not really moving to enter as you stand there in the doorway.  You swallow and take a deep breath.

“Anything you want to tell me, Dave?” you ask him.  It comes out as a whisper.  You choke on it and all the volume you meant to have starts spilling out of your eyes.

“I…can’t,” he says.  “Not now.”

You clamp down on your bottom lip and squeeze your eyes shut.  When you run to your room, you accidently knock into Jake, but you don’t apologize.  You can’t talk.  You can’t think. You just need to be alone.

You fall to your bed and throw your glasses across the room, not caring if they break.  Everything in you is steadily starting to work again, fueled by one thing.  You burry your face in your hands and weep as despair begins to suffocate you.

John: Be your own disaster.

You are now the Despair.  You were just born from the depths of John’s heart and you are spreading through him.  You are boiling hot and thick in rage, which is your essence and you are empty and ice cold with absolute anguish, the trail you leave in your wake.

From his heart, you grew into his throat, tightening it, filling it with stones, until he couldn’t speak, only choke on the sobs that you made for him. You pinch his eyes until they ache and he finally gave up trying to not cry.   Then you slowly poured yourself into his head, throbbing behind his temples and making him clench his teeth together.

You whisper things into his ear.

_How could he?_

_You thought he…._

_He what?_

_That he loved you?_

_Did you ever actually hear him say that to you?_

_You should’ve known._

_He may have been your friend from long ago, but you saw what he became._

_You know what he does for a living._

_He even told you that it was fun._

_That he got off on being out in the open._

_You saw him the other night when he danced for your friends._

_What he did to Karkat._

_You saw._

_You saw._

_You thought you’re be okay because, what?_

_You respected his desire to be an exhibitionist?_

_He doesn’t love you._

_You were just an easy man to pick up._

_A means to other easy guys to get a hold of._

_And Karkat…your friend._

_Your friend…._

_How could he do that to you?_

You become the bitter taste in his mouth and you fester under his tongue.  You are in every wet sob that’s staining his pillow and every single splinter in his cracked heart.  You make yourself at home. Your name is now Betrayal and John is your victim.

Betrayal: Be the traitor.

You are now the traitor.  You name is Karkat and you’re in so much deep shit.  Your current goal is to get out of the immediate shit you’re in so you can deal with the outlying shit.  The immediate shit is Gamzee’s wrath.

After he opened the door and saw you, he snatched you away from Dave and proceeded to drag you back to the room he was sharing with Jake.  He then threw you, _threw_ you, onto his bed and stared at you like you were a dying lamb and he was a wolf. 

At least he doesn’t have his hand over your mouth anymore.  So to catch his attention, you blurt out what you’ve been trying to explain.

“Dave’s been raped!”

Gamzee’s eyes flash dangerously and after a moment, he asks,

“By you?”

You cringe.  That stung….  But still….

“No, you fuckwit, by some other guy!”

 

Coming up===> Karkat: Explain everything to everyone.  Then get punched in the face.  Jake: Go rapist hunting with this handsome looking chap.


	6. Chapter 6

Your name is Karkat and you’re so scared right now. 

You’re sitting on Gamzee’s bed, staring up at him while he stares right back with this rage shuddering off of him like layers peeling back to reveal the demon he’s been keeping secret from you and everyone.  You have _never_ seen him this angry before and you’ve known Gamzee all your life.

Your words don’t seem to have sunk in like you need them to, so you explain further, about how Dave crashed into the door, injured.  How you were bandaging him up and you finally figured out what happened to him.  And though Gamzee seems to believe you, he still doesn’t look like he’s decided to not eat you.

“Why were you motherfuckin’ making out with him?”

See, now, there’s the question you don’t want to answer.  So you don’t.  You look away and grit your teeth and sigh.  Before you realize it, Gamzee’s kneeling in front of you on the bed, his gaze flicking back and forth between your eyes.  You actually don’t think you’ve ever been more terrified.  It rolls through you like someone dumped ice water on top of your head.

You jolt a bit when his hand touches your face.  His fingers press against your lips and smears across them, like he’s trying to wipe something away.  Then he exhales—a strange sigh of relief—and says, “Get the motherfuck out of here and tell them.”

You stare at Gamzee a little longer, confused as hell, but say nothing as you scramble off the bed and out of the door.  He doesn’t follow.  You hear the door close behind you and the sound of John sobbing in the room you pass by.

You’re reminded about how much everything sucks.

Out in the living room, the remaining three are all looking Dave over.  He’s completely conked out and now lying horizontally on couch with his pants back on.  You take a moment to pause at the hallway’s end and watch him.  You’re glad he’s sleeping.  There’s a quiet wave of relief that rolls through your heart in the midst of its chaos, knowing that he’s resting.

You’re jerked out of your reverie when Jake grabs you by the shoulders and starts shaking you.

“What the bloody hell has gotten into you, Vantas!” he exclaims and you shoosh at him angrily. 

“Don’t wake him up!” you say, knocking Jake’s hands away.

“Seriously though, Karkat,” Rose says from over near the couch.  She’s kneeling next to Dave, giving him another look over and patching up places you missed.  “You took advantage of a guy so drugged out he can barely talk straight.”  Ah, well, at least they know about that part.  You suppose it’s kinda obvious when you take the time to look at him.

“Look, that’s not what’s important,” you insist.  “He actually—”

“Not important?” Jake interrupts you.  “You just betrayed the trust of your best friend!  How dare you even say such a thing!”

“Shut up, okay!” you yell.  “Look, I know I fucked up and I’ll work on that as soon as I can.  But you need to hear me when I say that Dave is a lot more important than all that at the moment.”

“What are you saying, exactly?” Kanaya asks you from where she’s been sitting over in the armchair.  You sigh and look down at your feet, not really eager to repeat such awful truth, but for Dave’s sake….

Karkat: Be the one who you know will stay calm in this situation.

You are now vastly capable of coping with bad news.  Your name is Kanaya and…wait, really?  Huh.  Well, you suppose with the majority of the main characters being distressed or unconscious, it’s up to you to float the plot for a while.  That’s fine.  You’re good at support.

Anyway, when Karkat spills the news, even though it absolutely shatters your heart, you’re still composed enough to know what to do next.  Jake’s rather flown off the handle, ranting and raving about how he’s going to, and you quote, “Find the bleeding wanker that did this and give him what for.”

You know Rose is pissed off to an extreme because she has the silence of a mortuary but black fires burning in her eyes.  That, and when Jake starts planning aloud just what he’s going to do when he finds said wanker, you can see her calculating the steps to take to make sure the body’s never found.

Karkat, though looking generally relieved that now his betrayal isn’t the center of attention, goes on to reiterate that Dave really needs to get cleaned up a bit more and checked out for internal injuries.

“So if you’ll just let me get back to—”

“No,” you say, making all of them turn to look at you.  “Karkat, I think you’ve done enough for one night.  Your furthered contact with Dave will probably do everyone more harm than good, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, but….”  He trails off and sighs, great disappointment darkening his features.

“I know you care for him, but the delicacy of the situation has already been compromised by your poor decisions.  Let Jake and Rose help him, they can do it just fine.”  You nod to the two of them and they proceed to lift Dave up from the couch and take him to the bathroom.

Karkat goes and sits on the couch that’s just been vacated.  He’s pouting, but one hand is placed gently where Dave’s head had been resting, his thumb stroking back and forth.

You sigh and give a small smile to him before going over and kissing his forehead.

“Do you love him?” you ask quietly.  He snaps his gaze up to your eyes, a deep blush spreading across his face.

“No way,” he says.  “I mean…he’s gorgeous and really cool and interesting.  And I guess after what happened to him, I felt really bad for him.  He looked so broken….  I just wanted to wrap him up and hide him from everyone.”

“Pity can be a kind of love,” you console your friend, stroking your fingers through his hair.  “You need to be careful about the decisions you make with your feelings, though.  You’ll end up losing the love you’ve had.”

Karkat looks up at you and puts his hand over the one you hold against his face.

“You’re talking about John.”

“Mmhmm.”

He looks like he’s about to say something, but then the phone rings.  You turn around to look towards it and then back to Karkat.  He’s silent and makes a nodding gesture for you to go over an answer it.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hey, is John there?”  The voice is male.  Deep.  Mildly familiar.  A bit urged.

“Who’s calling?” you ask.

“Dirk Strider.  Who’s this?”  Ah.  You feel your heart sink in your chest.  Well, you guess it’s your job to do this. 

“Good evening Mister Strider,” you say cordially.  “My name is Kanaya; I’m a good friend of John’s and an acquaintance of your brother.”

“Nice to meet you.  So, yeah, I got a message from Dave a few hours ago but when I called him back, he didn’t pick up.  I was going to ask if John knew where he was.”

You take a breath and decide it’s best to settle into this gently.

“Dave’s with us, Mister Strider.  No need to worry; he’s safe now.”

There’s silence for a moment, a space where you wonder if maybe your delicate approach is a bit too subtle.

“What the fuck happened?”  The voice over the phone is dark and cutting.  It makes your heart jump in your chest.  You take another breath to steady yourself.

“Dave’s been hurt,” you tell him carefully.  “We’re not completely sure of the extent of the damage or the exact circumstances that led to his current condition.  He’s been cut and bruised in several places and has ingested what is probably Rohypnol, but his condition is stable.”

“So when you say he’s been hurt, what you’re actually telling me is that he’s been raped.”

It’s not a question.

“Yes.”

You hear the sound of glass breaking.

“Can I count on you to keep him safe until I get there?”

“Absolutely,” you assure the man in gentle tones.  “We’ll all take good care of him.”

“I’m getting on the next plane out of here; I’ll be there sometime tomorrow.  Tell John to call me if he can.”

“I will.  Travel safely.”

He hangs up and so do you, sighing before you put down the phone.  You can hear water running in the bathroom and Karkat is standing in the entrance to the kitchen with a worried look on his face as he stares at you.

“It’ll be alright,” you tell him.  “His brother’s coming to get him.  Apparently from somewhere within a one-day flying distance.”

Karkat nods and folds his arms across his chest.  You smile at him.  When you open your arms, he runs to you.  You fold him in tightly and put your lips to the top of his head.

“It’ll be okay,” you murmur, rubbing his back.  “You need to talk to John though, okay?”

“Right now?” Karkat whines into your breasts. 

You chuckle.

“Yes.  Because he needs to be with Dave.”

Karkat stays put for a while and you kiss his forehead.  “Go on.  We can cuddle later, if you want.”

Karkat grumbles as he pulls away but a hand lingers on your waist as he does. You smile.

Honestly, he can be such a baby sometimes.  But it’s okay.  He doesn’t like being spoiled; you happen to be one of the exceptions.  And you like that.  You hope that one day, he’ll let someone else spoil him.  More people should be able to see that smile….

Kanaya: Be the crying boy.

You are now the crying boy.  Though you’re not crying that hard anymore.  You’re just sniffling and dripping onto the pillow. You’ve never been one to cry for very long.  It just hurts too much and after a while it’s pointless. 

Outside, you hear the others talking, doors opening and closing, the water for the bathtub running. Everyone’s going about their evening like nothing matters.  Well, you suppose not.  It’s not their problem.  You kinda wish you had someone to hold you, though.

You wish Dave would come hold you….

This sucks.

You’re thinking about trying to sleep; your mind is weary.  But there’s a knock on your door.

“John, I’m coming in, okay?”

“No,” you say into your pillow.  But you don’t make a move to get up.  The door opens.  It closes again.  There’s the sound of feet stepping over the air bed that’s on the floor (the one Karkat has been sleeping on) and then the very person settles there, near your head.

“John, I know I messed up and I’m sorry.  I’m really, really, fucking sorry.  Will you let me explain?”

You say nothing.  You don’t move.  It’s difficult to breathe with your face in a pillow but you don’t want to do anything.  You’re dead to him.  Or…wait, is it supposed to be the other way around?  God, who cares?  As soon as he starts pissing you off, you’re going to kick him out.

“Look, what happened before…it was entirely me.  Dave isn’t in his right mind right now. He couldn’t have fought me off if he wanted to.  So don’t be mad at him.  Be mad at me for forever if you want, but you need to be with Dave.”

You run over what he just said.

…what?

You pick your head up and stare at him, your eyes scrunching up in confusion.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Karkat sighs and turns his head to one side.

“He’s drugged,” he tells you softly.  “Someone drugged him and he came here to find you.”

“What the hell?” You’re getting to your knees.  “What the hell do you mean ‘someone’?”

“I don’t know who, okay?” There’s angry frustration spilling out of his mouth.  “All I know is that whoever it was raped him after they drugged him.”

 

You wish you had words to describe what’s happening to you.  You’re immediately nauseous, even more that you were when you saw Dave and Karkat together.

There’s nothing but a horrible cramping pain in your insides and you’re shaking.  You’re sweating.  You’re cold.  You’re going to throw up.

No, no, you’re just having a panic attack.  Wow, that’s new.

You have to be with Dave.  You _have_ to go to him.  But first, you have to put the shit with Karkat behind you because you do not have the time or energy to think about it anymore. 

You crawl off your bed and stand over Karkat, allowing yourself only a second of hesitation before you throw your fist into his face.  He falls all the way to his back and you storm out saying,  
“I’ll forgive you when you’re healed!”  You don’t look back to assess the damage.

You run to the living room, but Kanaya redirects you back to the bathroom.  Rose is there, sitting in the sink counter and keeping an eye on Jake, who’s kneeling by the tub and rubbing at Dave’s arm with a soapy washcloth.    They both look at you when you enter and then they depart silently, Jake handing over the rag on his way out.

You go right to where he’d been sitting and settle there.  Dave is resting with one arm hanging out of the tub, his hand all bandaged up.  You count every bruise and angry red mark on his body.  There are so many….  Your hands are shaking. 

“Dave?” you say softly.  His eyes open a little and he looks at you, only the remnant of a smile twitching at his lips.  The ruby of his eyes is tarnished and dead.

“You okay?” he asks in a rasped whisper.

“Are you?”  Your voice cracks.

“Yeah,” he says.  “Doesn’t hurt.”

You’re spent on tears that now feel almost wasted, so you don’t cry.  You swallow a lot, though, as you start wiping him down.  Your throat is so dry. 

After a while, once you’ve basically sponged every bit of flesh on him above the water—counted his freckles and old scars, tried to remember the names of the bones in his arm—you just get in the tub with him and keep him in your lap.  Your clothes are getting soaked but you couldn’t care less.  He leans his head against your shoulder and hums softly, settling.

You wash his hair and tell him about the movie you saw.  The entire plot and your favorite bits.  He doesn’t say much.  Sometimes he drifts off.  By the time you’ve cleaned every inch of him, the water is becoming lukewarm.  But he’s sleeping.  You don’t want to move.  So you lean against the wall and wrap your arms around him.

He’s so slack in your hold and you’re starting to feel that weird, ghosting nausea of being in wet clothes for too long.  You’re not going anywhere.  You’ll sleep here for the night if you must.

You think that but by the time the water is chilly and you’re shivering a bit, someone knocks on the door.  You invite them in and it turns out to be Jake with towels and a set of his own pajamas.  He helps you dry off Dave and get him dressed. And then you put him in your bed.  You watch him in unwavering vigilance as you change into dry clothes.  When you curl up next to him, you’re still shivering a bit, but now the two of you are warm together.  You’re going to sleep.  You don’t hear Karkat come in at any point in the night.  He won’t be there when you wake up either.

John: Be future Dave Strider.

You have a name again.  It’s Dave and you’re only having a slight difficulty remembering.  Idiot didn’t give you enough to wash the night out of you.  You’re not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.

You’re in John’s arms, in his old bedroom, in the dark. You really have to pee but at the same time, you really don’t want to get up.  You want to keep sleeping.  Keep dreaming deep things.  Keep this precious kid as close as you can.

Yesterday sucked, which is a very generous euphemism.  Honestly, you’ve had more damaging consensual sex before.  But at least _they_ didn’t drug you.  You’re trying not to remember the details of what happened to you because that’s not what you want to think about.  What _does_ matter is that you recognized him.  That’s what’s important.

There’s a knock on the door but no pause to wait for an answer.  John stirs; you look up.

Your Bro’s there.  He goes right to your side and touches your face.  You blink at him.  He takes off his shades.  There are no words but his orange eyes tell you everything.  You nod and put your own hand on his shoulder.

“The one I punched,” you say. 

His eyes grow dark.  He rubs his thumb against your cheek, puts his glasses back on and leaves, closing the door behind himself.

You hear voices out in the hallway as you turn and bury yourself back into John’s arms.  Sounds a bit like arguing but then there’s a happy exclamation and suddenly Jake bursts into the room proclaiming,

“Worry not, Dave!  Your brother and I are off to find the perpetrator of such deplorable villainy and bring him to a swift end!  Rather fit bloke, your brother; I say!  Cheerio!”

The door is slammed shut again and you hear John giggling.

“Your friends are so fuckin’ weird,” you murmur against his throat, kissing it a couple times.

“You’ll fit right in,” he whispers back.

 

Coming up===> Dave: They say the best sex is makeup sex.  Verify this for yourself.


	7. Chapter 7

Your name is Karkat and that punch in the face was exactly what you needed.  You’re not gonna forget what Dave Strider made you feel that night, but you’re one hundred percent certain that your stupid crush is over.

You’re sitting out in the living room on the couch.  Gamzee is there with his arm around you, pressing you against his side.  You slept in his room last night since Dave was in John’s room and you were pretty sure that they didn’t need you in there.  At all.

After John punched you in the face—hard enough to make your nose bleed—you sat there like an idiot for a minute.  But then you went out to Kanaya and asked if she could fix you up. While she was helping you clean up, Gamzee came out into the living room.  He didn’t really say anything.  Just picked you up out of the chair you were sitting in, sat there instead, and put you down into his lap.

It wasn’t too weird.  That guy has been in your personal bubble for as long as you remember.  But this was the first time that he’d ever done anything like this.  You didn’t say anything.  Neither did Kanaya.  The house was quiet for the rest of the night.

When you were all patched up as best as you could be with a couple painkillers in your stomach, Gamzee picked you up again.  And though you did protest, he told you to shoosh and then took you to his own room and put you down on his bed.  He told you to sleep and then he left after pulling his blankets over you.

It was odd, but that lemon-earthy-tobacco smell of Gamzee made you drowsy.  Smelled like the living room at your place back in Michigan.  Like the couch where you would crash and take naps after coming home from school.

So this morning when you woke up to the smell of bacon and walked out to see Gamzee sitting on the couch with a plate of food in his lap, you just sat down next to him.  Then he put his arm around you and that’s how you’ve been ever since.

The plate is empty now. Kanaya brought the both of you lemonade after Jake and Dave’s brother departed.  You didn’t even look that guy in the face.  Which was okay since he didn’t even say anything to anyone until Jake suddenly jumped up and announced that he was going to help him go hunting.  Then they left and the rest of you have been watching whatever’s been on the TV.

The punch to your face was a good reminder that you didn’t know shit about your own feelings.  You’re just going along with whatever feels good.  And yeah, Dave is a pretty cool guy.  But he’s not who you really want.  Not that you actually have someone else you want.  Today’s the day you realize that you need to be careful about getting swept away by your emotions.

Now, with that being said, you think that you’re going to sleep again.  You ate a lot.  Food coma’s kinda settling over you.  Gamzee smells good….  Like home.  His arm around you is warm.  When he breathes, it’s gentle and rocks you, leaning against his shoulder.

This is a good time to stop thinking about everything.

Karkat: Be the guy with more serious business.

You now have more important things to think about.  Your name is John and you can’t really believe what’s happening.  You suppose that due to the circumstances, you should’ve expected something along these lines.  But sitting here, watching this….  It’s pretty surreal for you.

You’re on your bed in your room.  Dave is facing you.  He’s just told you everything that happened.  Not in excruciating detail, but enough to make you want to start crying again.  The weird thing is, the one that’s crying is him.  Not like sobbing and just going completely to shit.  But still….

He sits there across from you, his legs folded under himself and his hands gripping his knees.  Dressed in an oversized t-shirt and some loose basketball shorts of Jake’s, bruises and scratches obscured only in some places.  Tears mar his freckled face and you’re shocked by it.  Like those times you suddenly look down and you’re bleeding from a cut you hadn’t even felt.

It’s wrong.  Dave doesn’t cry.  Dave shouldn’t cry.  Nothing should ever make Dave cry. 

You’re so angry.  Your nails dig into your palms and you wish that you had run out with Dave’s Bro and Jake to go murder that guy.  How dare he hurt Dave to this point?  You want to kill him….

“Sorry.”

The word catches you off guard.  It pours ice cold water on the bubbling lava of rage in your heart and you’re dumbfounded.  You blink.

“What?”

“John, I’m so sorry,” Dave whispers.  It’s making you crazy; you can see his eyes and they won’t look at your face.  “I let that happen to me.  I couldn’t fight him off.  I’m all fucked up.”  He struggles; swallows.  “Damaged goods.  I let someone other than you put their hands on me.  Twice.”  When he laughs, it’s not funny.

Outside, your neighbor is mowing their lawn and the cicadas are screeching summer songs.  There are voices in the living room and the TV is on.  The smell of bacon is still lingering from breakfast—which neither of you have eaten.  The summer is here and Dave is on your bed, apologizing to you with tears on his face.  The world is wrong.

You lurch forward and put your hands on Dave’s face.  You wipe away the tears.  Over and over, pushing them off of his face and smearing them from his eyes.  You make his skin dry.  You let the tears be on your own hands.

“Stop it,” you tell him as you take his tears away.  “Don’t ever apologize to me about this ever again.  I don’t want to hear it.”

Dave scrunches his brow as you wipe your hands off on the bed and then tug him into your arms.

“You don’t have any room to be sad for me.  You need to be thinking about yourself.  Why can’t you ever do that?”

You hear him scoff.  He presses so close…. You lose your balance and fall back with him tucked safely there with you.

“I’m the most selfish person I know,” he says.

“No you’re not,” you tell him.  “You haven’t cried for yourself at all.  Just me.  That’s fucked up, Dave.  I’m not the one that’s hurt.”

“Of course you are,” Dave says.  “Don’t lie.”

 You pull him in closer, if that’s even possible.  You put your lips to his forehead and kiss him.  His hair smells like your own shampoo.  “Don’t cry for me.  I’ve done enough of that on my own.”  You feel his fingers tighten in your shirt. 

“Don’t be so strong for yourself,” you say. “Let me do that for you sometimes.  Let me do it now.”

You have silence then.  Silence and darkness and the warmth of each other in the room with the ceiling fan on low.  It’s not quiet; the fan hums and the noises outside bleed in through the walls.  But together, the two of you have silence.  You feel the tiny spots of heat where his tears soak to your skin through your shirt.  They turn cold after a little while.

It really is surreal to have Dave crying.  But after everything….  After putting up with the cruel insults and bullying of other kids; after having to expose himself just to get some respect; after living under a legend that distanced him from any real friendship; after using sex to fill in whatever spaces appeared in his heart; after last night….

You’re glad that Dave finally has the chance to mourn what he’s lost.  You’re the only one who’s ever told him it was okay.

John: Be future Dave Strider.

You are now future Dave Strider.

It’s been a few weeks since all that shit went down.  Your Bro and Jake successfully made your attacker vanish from the face of the planet. You're not quite sure how, but you don't want the details. You've been checked out and you're still squeaky clean and STD free (thank god) because you've just come back to your apartment with John.  He just bought new shades for you.  They’re not the same as the ones you had before, but they’re remarkably similar.  You’ve only had them on for about ten minutes but they’re coming off now.

You fold them carefully and put them on the nightstand next to your bed.  Then you sweep John up into your arms in some ridiculously ironic princess hold that isn’t as much of a joke as you’d claim it is.

He laughs and it’s cute and you lay him on your bed before going in for a kiss.  He wraps his arms around your neck and kisses you back.  Little suckles and puppy-laps at your lips and it’s just so fucking precious.

“John, I love you.”  A whisper against his lips that makes the air around your mouth cold when he gasps.

“I love you too, Dave!”  He’s smiling so hard, it hurts your cheeks to even look at him.  You chuckle once.  Your face feels hot.

Oh, well, that’s new.  Huh.

“Dave, you’re blushing!”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s really adorable,” John says.  He runs his fingers along the burning path you feel on your cheeks and tickles your ears.  “Even here is red.”

“I bet I can get you to blush in places you haven’t even thought of,” you tell him.  And with that, you’re pulling his shirt off of him.

You kiss him again.  On his mouth, along the line of his jaw, down his neck.  Sloppy kisses with your tongue and little nips of your teeth on his pale skin.  They make his chest hitch and you kiss there too, in the little dip of his sternum and on the soft pink of his nipples. 

Your wrap your lips around one stiffening nub and suck gently.  John moans, his fingers running through your hair like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.  His pale chest is spread with redness.  You can feel the heat radiating with your face so close.  You nuzzle your nose against his chest and curl your fingers around his hips.

You can hear his heartbeat when you put your ear to his chest.  It’s fast and loud in your head.  But it’s kind of amazing and for a moment, you don’t feel like doing anything but listening to it forever.  Just his thrumming pulse and the shift of his breath.

But you move your hands anyway and cup him through his shorts.  He’s hard and your gentle grip just makes him _purr_.  He pulls your shirt off before his hands slide down and curve around your ass, squeezing a bit, kneading at you.  And it just feels so good.  You unbutton his shorts and pull them down to his knees, tugging his boxers along with them.  Your hand goes right back to his dick and you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly.

A hiss escapes from John’s clenched teeth as he arches his back and pushes up into you.  Without breaking pace, you lift yourself so you can trace your gaze all the way down his stretched body, every gentle line and shuddering muscle.  It keeps blowing your mind how absolutely perfect he is.

You shift your weight to your knees and use your unoccupied hand to take the glasses from his face.

“Dave,” he whispers, the words descending into a soft groan as you twist your fist just a bit around him.  His hips roll up into your hand and he works his fingers on your ass, gripping and squeezing and trying to pull you back down again.  “Dave…fuck me.”

The words roll through you and go right to your cock, making you twitch with want.  His eyes are hazy and lusty, darker than you’ve ever seen.  His lips are open, sheened with saliva and red from your attentions.  You see the pearly gleam of his front teeth and you dip to slide your tongue into his mouth.  Your lips don’t quite touch.  That’s not the point.  You just want to lap him up.  The backs of his teeth, the roof of his mouth, the tip of that baby-soft tongue.  You suck on it, your own tongue slipping beneath it and stroking back and forth along that delicate place.

John is a shivering, whimpering mess underneath you, still grinding up into your hand with his fingers now busy pushing your pants down.

“Fuck me…fuck me,” he pleads.  Every time the words come out, there’s another jolt through you.  Makes you jerk your hips forward.  Your cock bumps the hand around John’s erection and you make room in your palm for yourself. 

The feel of your dick on his and your hand around the both of you makes the muscles in your stomach tighten.  You scrape your teeth on your bottom lip and he gasps, arching again.

“Dave!” he whines.

“Yeah, I got ya, I got ya.”

You take a moment to straighten up and reach over to your nightstand, fumbling through the drawer to pull out a bottle of lube.  You flick it open and douse a good amount on your hand.  Gently, you pull his shorts off the rest of the way so you can spread his legs open.

Under you, John is breathing slowly, watching you like you’re the only thing that’s ever existed.  He’s practically pink all over, except for the dark red of his twitching cock.  He’s like this great dessert spread out beneath you, all creamy skin and sugar-sweet blush.

You can’t keep your fingers away; they start at the tip of his dick and slide all the way down his length, over the curve of his balls and dip into the cleft of his ass.

You wanted to be gentle for his first time.  But you don’t think that’s going to happen.  So you tell him to brace himself.

“I wanna fuck you so hard that you forget every word ‘cept the name you’ll be screaming.”

Dave: Be the kid with impeding brain damage.

What Dave says, combined with the accompanying push of his fingers against your hole makes strangled noises drip out of your lips.  Your name is John and you’re about to lose your virginity.

It takes a while; Dave waits until you’re more relaxed before even pushing his fingertip in.  It’s strange and intrusive, but doesn’t hurt.  He’s in only a little bit, just enough to feel.  You relax a bit more and he pushes in and out shallowly.

“You’re really soft,” he whispers and it sends a spiraling heat through your chest.  He pushes in just a little bit deeper and then turns his finger a bit, crooking it inside you.  There’s a sudden burst in you.  It makes you cry out and arch your spine and tighten your hands on Dave’s thighs.

“Feels good, dunnit?”

“Oh, god, again….”

And he does it again.  Strokes that spot inside you that narrows your entire body right down to the throb in your hips.  Right when you’re getting comfortable with it, biting on your lip and keening, he slides another finger into you.  Your skin stretches around him and it burns a little; dims the pleasure some. 

But despite his earlier promise, Dave goes slow and easy on your insides, stretching you gently.  Every now and then, he’ll rub over that spot in you and make you shudder, keep your erection from fading.  And by the time that you’re starting to gently rock your hips in time with the push of his two digits, he’s slipping in another one.

The ache comes back but it’s just a matter of being patient again.  You don’t want to be patient, you want to be over the edge.  But you also don’t want to be hurt.  So you’re waiting.  Waiting and rolling your hips gently and watching Dave as he does his work.

He’s beautiful.  Hovering over you with his crimson red eyes focused on you—your face, your body, your spread legs and everything between them.  Every now and then, his tongue will flick out over his lips and he’ll murmur encouragements to you.

“Like that, baby….”

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

“Let’s see that pretty tongue in your head.”

Makes you smile and breathe a little harder and hold your mouth open so he can lean down and give you these ridiculously erotic kisses.  You love the sight of his hard and dripping cock that’s jutting out of those blond curls.  He’s been neglecting it in favor of taking care of you.  You’ve noticed.

It’s another one of those ways that he shows just how much he loves you.  It blows your mind.

You’ve been keeping your hands on him, his thighs and his ass and there are marks all over them from your grip, your blunted nails.  You’re pretty sure he likes it, though.  His teeth show whenever you grab him a little harder.

You love his arms and the rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathes and the freckles on his chest and the silver studs in his nipples that you really wish you could suck on right now.  You’ll have to do that later, though.

His fingers pull out of you, making you gasp with the sudden lack and he’s reaching for the bottle of lube again.  This is it.  It’s happening for you.  You start trembling suddenly and of course, Dave notices.  The hand that hasn’t been inside you comes up to hold your face.

“Are you scared?” he asks gently.

“A little,” you tell him.  You bump your nose against his palm and kiss him there.

“Don’t be,” he says.  He leans over you and kisses you.  This one is soft, an innocent closed-lips kiss to the very corner of your mouth that’s slow and lingering.  Makes your body catch fire.  Without taking his kiss away, there’s a push at your entrance and he’s inside.  Slowly…slowly….

It’s still a bit thicker than the sum of his three fingers, enough to make you open your mouth and struggle for breath.  But Dave’s there, whispering for you to relax.  Relax and let him in.  So you try as best you can to settle the clench in your muscles, opening your eyes to look up into his face.

His lips are parted just a bit and he’s got this dreaminess about his eyes, like he’s in a trance as he looks down into your face and pants gently.  So fucking beautiful….

When he’s all the way in, he stops and takes a breath.

“You alright?” he asks.  You nod.  “I’m gonna move.”  Another nod.  You remember to relax, not tense up.

He pulls out; not completely, but enough to give him a good bit of room to push back to.  You bite down on your lip and mentally repeat your mantra.  Relax…relax…just relax….

He goes slowly.  Agonizingly slowly, like the way he moved his finger inside of you.  But after a while, it doesn’t feel strange and achy anymore.  Just wonderful.  You stop with the breathless grunts and they bloom into low moans.

That’s when Dave begins to speed up.  His fingers become tighter on your waist and he rolls his hips into you.  You grip him tighter and it makes his angle change.  His dick hits that spot inside you that makes everything in your head disappear.  Your eyes fly open and your spine bends and you _yell_.

It doesn’t even make him pause, though.  He just snaps his hips forward and hits it again…and again, and again and again.

“God, Dave, I can’t…!”

And you really can’t.  You can’t even finish your sentence.  You can’t even remember what you were trying to say.  You can only think about the tight and burning heat that’s taken residence in your body and the sensation of fullness from Dave being inside you.

“Jesus,” he hisses.  “So good….”  His hands slide up and as one stops to tweak at your nipple, the other goes all the way up your neck to your lips and pushes inside of your mouth.  Instinctively, your close your mouth around his fingers and suck, sliding your tongue around the tips and when he thrusts into you, your teeth clench down.

Your legs wrap around him and you grind your hips down whenever he pushes in.  He speeds up.  The sound of your skin slapping together in rapid beats is so dirty.  But it’s pushing you closer to the edge with every hit.  The nerves that he brushes with each thrust are tensing with pleasure.

“Ahh…Ahhhhnnn!”  You’re moaning around Dave’s fingers in your mouth.  He pulls them out, trailing your drool down your chin and neck.  “Dave!” you cry out.

His spit-covered fingers wrap around your cock and he tugs once, twice, and you’re coming.  Your back arches and you’re not breathing and your eyes are shut so tightly as your mouth gapes open, trying to push out the scream that wants to emerge.

You hear Dave moaning affirmations above you as your nails dig into his flesh.  His pace picks up for just a few more seconds—thrusting into you and milking every drop from your twitching erection—and then he lets out one long, groaning breath.

You start breathing again and the world gets its color back.  Dave pulls out of you and you cringe a little from how sensitive you are.  He flops down next to you and pulls you into his arms, shoving his pants the rest of the way off with his feet.

It’s kinda silly and makes the bed jiggle, so you laugh and kiss at his face when he tells you to shut up.

“You in any pain?” he asks you, wiping the dampening of sweat from your brow.

“A little,” you admit.  “But it’s alright.”  You snuggle close and even after you can’t get any closer, you burrow into him even more.

“John,” Dave scolds, but you can hear him smiling.

“I love you so much,” you tell him.  “You make me happier than anything.”

There’s a bit of comfortable silence as he folds you into his arms.

“You need to quit stealing my ironically cheesy lines, Egbert.  I’m going to have to start charging you for that.”

You laugh.  Your legs tangle with his.  And as a wonderful exhaustion settles over you, you’re happy to just be there, breathing with the man who loves you.

-END-

 

Coming Up===> …I just said that was the end.  Why would there be anything coming up? Silly people….


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